Guardian Angel
by avrovulcan
Summary: Illya and Napoleon are sent to bring a THRUSH defector to HQ, but things go wrong. Originally written for Picfic Tuesday on LJ


"Illya can you hear me? Come on partner, let me see those baby blues."

_It was dark, he was floating in pitch black, disorientated, he didn't know where he was. _

_A voice drifted to him, it was familiar; it sounded like melted chocolate, soft and warm with just a hint of sharpness._

_He struggled to follow the voice calling to him._

"C'mon Illya, talk to me, open your eyes you stubborn Russian."

_He was clawing his way back to the surface, darkness was fading round the edges, like the dawn chasing the night away._

_His chest felt heavy, something was pressing down on it, then he felt the pain stabbing through his body and a moan escaped his lips._

"That's it Illya, come back to me partner, help's on it's way."

Napoleon looked down at his friend lying on the ground, his hands pressing on the bullet wound to Illya's chest in an attempt to try and stop the bleeding.

This shouldn't have happened, the shot had been meant for him. Solo's life had been spared when Kuryakin, not having time to shout a warning, had pushed him out the way, taking the slug himself.

They'd been betrayed, it was supposed to have been a simple retrieval. Albert Grinski, a intermediate ranking THRUSH, was asking for protection from UNCLE for him and his aide Willebski, in exchange he had a current list of higher ranking personnel and their satrapies in the North Eastern States.

The American glanced to the body lying to his right, there was no help for Grinski now.

Shortly after they'd arrived at the rendezvous point in the cemetery, there'd been a brief firefight and he was shot by his own aide; a single bullet to the head had taken him out, while another goon, suddenly appearing from behind a small mausoleum, had Napoleon in his sights and fired just as Solo was roughly knocked to the ground.

Willebski and the other THRUSH were now out for the count, courtesy of two of Napoleon's mercy darts, and would remain so until safely ensconced in UNCLE'S cells.

Napoleon had retrieved the list secreted on Grinski, but it now seemed a hollow victory as he looked down to see his partner's life blood seeping through his fingers.

"Illya, just hold on for a while longer."

He wasn't looking good, his pallor was a sickly shade of grey, his breathing shallower and pulse weaker, he knew if help didn't get here  
soon, they'd be too late.

"Stay with me, tovarisch,"

_He was near the surface and tried to open his eyes, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally lifted his heavy lids._

_He looked up into a sapphire blue sky with clouds scudding by, their shapes shifting and mutating as they passed overhead. A stone angel was looking down on him, like a guardian angel he thought, though he didn't really believe in these things, a stone monolith and bare trees beyond standing like sentries in the stillness surrounding him._ _He turned his head slightly and familiar brown eyes looked into his own._

"Nice to see you, tovarisch. No, stay still, try not to move."

"Wha... what... happened?"

"You were hit, but you're going to be okay," Napoleon said, in his best optimistic tone.

"Grinski..?" Kuryakin gasped as another wave of pain hit.

Solo shook his head, "dead, but we've got the list."

"Khorosho _(good)._"

_His eyes started to close, he was too tired, if he could just rest for a while..._

"Illya, don't go to sleep on me, wake up."

_Unfocused eyes drifted open, looking up into the face of the angel again, he felt light headed, peaceful, the pain had now gone and he experienced a contentment he hadn't known before, he didn't want to leave this place, here he was safe. The eyes closed  
again._

"Tovarisch, c'mon, stay with me, helps here now, you're going to be okay." Napoleon said in desperation.

The medics came hurrying over and stabilized Illya before loading him into the ambulance, Napoleon following close behind, not wanting to let his friend out of his sight.

The journey to HQ was mercifully quick, they were met at the emergency entrance, the doctor and nurses ready to receive the patient, who was now unconscious.

Napoleon kept out the way as he watched them work on his partner before rushing him into surgery.

After hours spent pacing the waiting room, the doctor came to see him.

"I'm pleased to tell you Mr. Kuryakin will recover. The bullet missed his vital organs, we've removed the slug and patched him up; he's now being moved to ICU."

"Thanks Doc. Can I see him now?" Solo asked, relief in his voice.

"Yes, he won't regain consciousness for a while though."

"That's okay Doc, I'll stay with him anyway."

Napoleon made himself comfortable in the chair next to Illya's bed, glad to be watching the steady rise and fall of the Russians bandaged chest.

It seemed to be becoming a common sight seeing all the tubes and wires sprouting from various parts of his body, listening to the beeps and hums of the machines monitoring his vitals. But against all the odds he'd survived - again, though at the time Solo was worried he wasn't going to on this occasion.

Sighing he took the limp hand in his own and closing his eyes, fell asleep.

That was how Illya found him when he came round. Smiling when he saw his friend by his side; slouched in a rather uncomfortable position he knew would result in sore muscles.

He weakly squeezed the warm hand holding his own and Napoleon immediately came awake, brown eyes smiling.

"Well hello, tovarisch, nice to see you back with us, how do you feel?"

"Fine," Illya croaked in reply, earning the usual eye roll and shake of his partners head, but Napoleon knew he would be - eventually.


End file.
